


The Ice-Queen

by Giverny48



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giverny48/pseuds/Giverny48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is why," he thinks as he flees. "This is why they call her the Ice-Queen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He watched over her as he ever did.

There had been so many changes since they first met, all those years ago. They were both so much older, and hopefully wiser. She was no longer his "little bird", though that didn't stop him calling her that when he thrust into his fist every night.

No, she was not his "little bird" so much as she was now the "Wolf Queen".

Some even refering to her as the "Ice Queen".

She currently sat in Winterfell's restored throne room, with her missing sister's massive direwolf Nimeria at her side, as ever. If one went to see the Queen of the North, two things were certain. One, that you would find a massive direwolf at her feet, and two, that you would find her even bigger "Hound" behind her. And he would be watching silently, carefully regarding those that would kneel at her feet, and otherwise appraising his queen with a look on his face as though he hadn't quite figured her out yet.

It was well known that Sandor Clegane was in love with Sansa Stark. And it was known by everyone but him that his feelings for his Queen were mainly unrequited.

* * *

He still fights, though his limp limits his skills. Geoffery Snow, a local bastard, is as good with a sword as he is with his wits - very good. Sometimes, when Sandor finds himself in too much pain from his leg, he now lets himself be beat from time to time. Though not when she is watching.

_Never_  when she is watching.

He supposes he still wants to delude himself that he is still at the height of his skills, still young and stong and fierce. Though he may only be three-score and six, he feels old. The crows feet that have developed on the left side of his face don't really help the notion either.

He had even found a silver hair the other day.

The reason why he never lets her watch him fight is the one time she did, he lost to Geoffery. He had just been about to call an end to the spar when  _she_  apperared, suprising him and costing him his dignity. He had slipped in the mud, and been forced to yield. She looked over him like he was nothing, congratulating Geoffery and telling him to "work Clegane harder". She had later calling him to her chambers to berate him for losing.

_"You're supposed to be the Captain of my Guard! You are the Commander of my Queensguard, how much hope do I have for my life if you cannot even spar against a bastard with no training?!" She railed at him. "How can I hope to stand against an attack or an assassination attempt Clegane?!"_

She had let him leave not long after, one she had given his burned cheek a good slap. When he settled into his bed that night, he felt the tears running down his face. How  _could_  he protect her? She was right. He was old, an ugly dog, finishing the era that had been the prime of his life.

He was not worthy being near her.

He had cried himself to sleep that night.

* * *

He did not know when or where the voices came from, but they would come to him every night, just as he would be about to fall asleep, warm and sated. Telling him he wasn't good enough, she would never pick him, he had nothing to offer her, that he had overstayed his welcome.

All he knew was that he had to tell his queen how he felt, if only to find some relief from the voices.

* * *

Jon had sent a raven asking for more men. His queen sent for him to meet her in her chambers to discuss the letter.

He knelt before her as he always did now. The dog kneeling before its master.

She asked him whether they had enough men to send to the Wall along with enough to keep Winterfell well armed.

Yes they did.

And he was to decide who stayed or went.

This could be his chance!

She sent him from her to think over the list for the night.

* * *

The next night he arrived to tell her his list, which was well thought over, for the most part.

Is it wrong that he chose to send all the young good looking  _boys_  to the Wall?

It probably was.

But it was also selfish. The one thing she cannot abide.

She rallied at him and sent him from her sight, with his tail between his legs. He would not be able to take this for much longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A false spring arrives

Weeks had passed, and she had refused to talk to him.

He drank more than he ever had in his life, breaking his vow to the Elder Brother. Instead of falling asleep sated, he now was more commonly found passed out in Stranger's stall in the stable, with what would look to be tear tracks down his scarred face.

She was forcing him into a hole, and he didn't know how to climb out of it.

She looked over him as if he were a rat, no longer her dog. No longer fit to be petted or fed bones from her table.

The way he saw it, he only had limited options.

Stay, and continue to have that aching feeling in his chest persist, or leave with his tail between his legs. Leave the place that after so long he had found himself able to call home.

* * *

He was found most commonly in the Godswood now, the old gods seemed to like him enough to give him a place in the north.

Better than what the bleeding Seven had pulled off.

An abusive and monstrous brother, who killed his own twin sister, who had adored baby Sandor, a father that overlooked the brutality of his first-born son, and a mother who had died birthing him.

Such mercy the Seven had showed him from day one.

* * *

He fell asleep in the Godswood, which was where she found him, waking him from his sweet dream of his little wife and birdling named for his sister Clove.

She is kinder than what she has been in months, and maybe, just maybe, she lets him see the strain that she has been suffering.

Winter is deadly, and even the Ice Queen is feeling it's effects.

She is naturally petite, but she is the Lady of Winterfell, and the skin over her cheekbones look to be stretched taut. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair, which always appears so luscious, is brittle as the cold.

But yet she is no less beautiful to him, and he vows quietly to himself that she will need not go hungry again as she will have his share of rations.

He would do anything, even die, for his lady love.

* * *

She has started smiling at him once more, and soon after a false spring arrives.

She is ruled by the seasons.

And she is beginning to thaw.

Now is his time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His demons return

She is kinder than she has been in months and she pets him again.

He is fed the scraps from her table again.

Flowers bloom and suitors come calling.

He retreats into himself and he sees her courting these young men.

Attractive, intelligent, strong, gallant, everything he is not.

He is not a young man anymore. His strength wanes with every passing moon and his limp starts to become more and more pronounced.

He is only three-tens and six, and he can feel the Stranger creeping closer and closer to his door each night.

He stops drinking, tries to stop sleeping, until he can take it no longer and passes out. He stopped drinking because he found that the wine does not dampen the voices like it once did in Kings Landing oh so long ago.

Though she has thawed with the false spring, the voices in his head are louder than ever before.

 

* * *

 

 

He helps pull the structure into place and once it is done all the workers go their separate ways.

He may be dying but he still can muster the strength of twelve men.

 

* * *

 

 

They left him with the rope.

 

* * *

 

 

He had visited the maester. For the voices, to see if anything could be done.

He was suggested milk of the poppy, which he refused, he shall not become helpless.

Only evermore hopeless.

Little does he know the Maester goes to _her._


End file.
